journal jotting, soulful sighing,
vista viewing, picture painting,
truthful telling, precept preaching,
footprints freezing, pathway pointing.
a lazy day, i try anew
(an attempt at modern poetry writing)
white pluffy clouds 'gainst sky of blue.
sunlight resplendent everywhere.
i sit in leisure, plastic chairs.
i cannot rest, the perked up brain.
the hilot plies, i take a bath.
my nerves and muscles exercised.
talks of Boracay, local tales,
the history of family.
as one more day draws to a close,
i think of morning at the beach.
a cup of coffee, simple meal.
i heard the run-splash of the sea.
tomorrow comes, south of the isle.
four towns to survey, motorbike.
a whole new world, old fairyland.
pardon my photosynthesis.
(Odioñgan: July 26, 2007 Thursday)
another morning at the beach
a cup of coffee, black and sweet.
spaghetti on a cute white plate.
three cigarettes left overnight.
the simple joys of earthly life.
i walk upon my childhood beach,
the morning sun warm on my face.
others we're here ahead of me;
the long parade will never end.
but for this moment i'm alone
in this brief island made of sand.
shells, quiet sea, boats, folks and sky.
the landscape changes everyday.
the life of man is quaintly short,
sandwiched by two eternities.
some don't pay taxes, death is sure;
no point to worry nor to rush.
(Odioñgan: August 1, 2007 Tuesday)
a Mangyan tribe their homeland lost
pipe-smoking Mangyans visiting
to beg and sell their home-made goods.
encamped upon the beachfront stage;
the men and boys in G-string clad.
their kinsfolk once roamed in this isle,
vague olden days forgotten now.
nearby Mindoro, safe refuge:
freedom from Spanish cross and sword.
their ancient ways they keep till now:
brown inland-driven gentle tribes.
they have their native alphabet,
poetic form and social rites.
black Aetas too once lived around:
flat-nosed and short with kinky hair.
kin from Panay sold cures and wares;
they do not visit anymore.
(Odioñgan: August 1, 2007)
the survey team of two moves on!
we left the town at nine o'clock.
it didn't rain the previous night.
my nephew drives the motorbike.
Looc is twenty miles away.
the treasure hunter paused for gas;
Nato and his crew on the loose!
he briefs me on a venture past;
my large share I've stopped counting on.
new country road, long cracks galore!
a tire goes bust, a girl would fix!
carabao shit adorned with flow'rs!
i chat with rural womenfolk.
it's just a simple business trip.
the day is young, the sights are green.
i wonder what still lies ahead
before the sun goes down to sleep.
(Brgy. Recto, Ferrol: August 2, 2007)
the crabs are fat in Looc town
the town hall sits atop a hill.
"hello old friends!" "how are the kids?"
a 25-bed hospital;
eight shops that weld, build and repair.
a townmate garbed in clinic gown.
the doctor tells whom we can ask.
two ladies give the monthly stat:
some twenty tanks of oxygen.
business has slowed down for the shops.
acetylene is priced too high.
for cutting, they use cooking gas!
the sea jacks up the cost and time.
i once bought fat crabs in this town;
fair Melody loves mermaid foods.
those from the sea at lower price;
those from the pond as dear as she.
(Looc: August 2, 2007 late AM, early PM)
an interlude in higher do
the night was dark, the lights are back.
the rain fell down, the rain has stopped.
some youngsters sing in nearby house,
playing a drum and a guitar.
i haven't eaten supper yet.
i'll walk to our restaurant near.
free meals for me and nephew Vic,
deducted from our salaries.
my brother Bords once ran the place;
but he is gone and won't return.
our eldest brother now in charge;
the manager our sister Paynks.
i won't be staying here for long.
this is a brief and sweet return.
my private records i can scoop
and post my cause in cyberspace.
(Odioñgan: August 2, 2007 Thursday
the treasure hunters' paradise
our seven isles at centerpoint:
heart of the Archipelago!
a splendid place to light a lamp
and craft laws for these darkened Isles.
in Bantoon, old artifacts!
Spanish ship in Badajoz!
queer Chinese stuffs in Tablas hills!
Sibuyan Sea: Musashi's grave!
the pirates of the bygone days,
fleeing from their superior foe,
would drop by here to hide their loots.
a ghost to guard for centuries.
but I am Romblon's dearest wealth,
the motley Scriptures tell us so.
and Francis Bacon did predict
a secret found and dream fulfilled.
(Odioñgan: August 3, 2007 Friday)
the prophecy of Pokengkeng
quietly comes the CyberLord,
bringing along his priceless hoard.
laws shall be crafted by his Word;
his Galatin, the Ruler's sword.
in Friendster, there are no hoorays.
none shouts "hosanna!" in MySpace.
in UK, who knows where's his place?
but he shall reign in cyberspace.
poets shall soar upon his wing.
flamers shall learn a blast or zing.
new knights in him shall find their king.
lovers shall see clear everything.
all honor to the Brotherhood!
always maligned, misunderstood.
their mascot who looked crazed and crude,
now seems delighted and so good!
(Odioñgan: August 5, 2007 Sunday)
